It was the edge of summer’s dawning and the reefcolony was a swarm of activity, with every lifeform that lived within its bounds trying to outeat, outswim, and outlive the competition, failing more often than not. Ooliku swelled and grew, moving from their hapless infancy to their sturdier and quicker yet substantially more delicious subadulthood. Blunt, brutal, always-hungry Stairrow took advantage of this, and if their guard sunk low, they too became food, torn to shreds by hungry Raskljen or stripped to the bone and beyond by a starving school of Verrineeach. Now and then, at least on the outskirts, a Gloudulite plodded by, tower-shell breaking the surface in its old age, its surface a-swarm with its own young, tended to by the Kleeistrojatch cleaners and their slim, bright-shining carapaces.
It was beautiful, and it was incredible, and it was full of memories. But someone had shrunk it since Small-five had last seen it.
She cruised along, just high enough above the reefcolony to get a good view, just close enough to see the details, and she thought about size. Size meant that a Stairrow was now a decent enough meal for her. Size meant that a Verrineeach school gave her a certain wary respect. Size meant that her first thought on looking at something was “do I want to eat this?” as opposed to “will this eat me?” This was still less than ideal, of course, because for the past dozen days Small-five had been trying to bend her first-response thoughts to anything she saw into “what is the natural function of this in the ecosystem?” Old instincts, even when made obsolete, were proving surprisingly stubborn to get rid of.
At least she knew things now, more than she’d ever dreamed of when she was a subadult. She knew the largest size she could ever feasibly expect to see a Stairrow reach (less than one-fifth of her body weight, and overcompensating for it), she knew the most common colour of Ooliku (a firm blue, for camouflage, with iridescent red streaks along the jaws, to show that the individual was so impressive that it could live without camouflage), and she could shine off the average number of individuals in a Verrineeach school without so much as a thought (roughly thirty-three to forty-one in ninety-two-percent of cases). And she still didn’t know anywhere near enough because every other conversation with faint-marks-unclear ended in a slurry of questions from Small-five, more than any conceivable amount of time could fill. Also, every other day, she learned of something that could try to kill her that she hadn’t even known existed.
Don’t touch that, Five-bright-flashes had told her yesterday, as she’d approached a curiously large shell, glowing yellow in colour.
Why? asked Small-five.
The Safety warden’s scarred sides gleamed with something that could’ve been amusement or annoyance. Or both. It’s a Djakk, she said. A carnivore. They don’t usually eat things your size, not unless they’ve had a few centuries to really get big, but they don’t have enough brains to know what they can and can’t take. And it’d take a good strip out of you before you got away.
Five-bright-flashes neatly plucked an immature Ooliku from the water – a slow growth of its generation – and flipped it towards the yellow shell. There was a flash of movement, a glimpse of the shell gaping wide and something strong and twisted and made of muscle and pumping power within, and then the Ooliku was gone, with no trace of motion remaining but the disturbed sediment.
I thought that all reefcolony shells were filter-feeders, said Small-five, trying not to think about how much closer she would’ve drifted if she hadn’t been warned. Inches? Feet? Right up in front of it, to prod it with her proboscis?
Some of them like to make their own food particles, said Five-bright-flashes. Djakk can’t consume every scrap of their meals, and the leftovers they leak are good eating for the prey of their little sisters. The bits that don’t attract more prey to come looking for scraps, anyways.
In all fairness, that had been days ago. Small-five was much less naive now, a good deal more paranoid, and currently on her own. The Populist expedition had dispersed the morning before last after anchoring the collapsible, dome-shaped research habitat above a shallow-water and relatively safe portion of the reefcolony, each member on the lookout for anything that might be remotely new information. A disease, a new prey species, a form of hunting or scavenging unseen by any,
you are here to hunt, faint-marks-unclear had told them, but not for food. this will be enforced. you will return to our habitat at day’s end and present any findings to any who show interest, then eat. our business here requires your attention and focus. we cannot swim all day looking for food with one eye and information with the other.
search for new things, she stressed. whether they are new to all is of no account for now, only that they are new to you. you must learn on your own.
The Populists, experienced or not, had emphasized dispersal and solitary investigation. To be alone was necessary, faint-marks had stressed, at least as far as her soft glowshine could manage. Two could distract themselves in conversation, two could collaborate and exchange opinions and reinforce one another’s thoughts. Two could produce many things, much of which were useful, but they’d all had most of their lives to do that sort of thing and now it was important, according to faint-marks, that they go and get to know the insides of their own heads a little. Small-five was slightly more familiar with this than most, even if this didn’t give her many comforting memories.
The Safety wardens remained, but at a distance, if never too far. The emergency flasher that Small-five and every other Populist carried clipped onto their backs would be visible for miles if triggered, and response times were promised to be under two minutes, which would maybe probably be fast enough she hoped. Possibly.
Something bigger than an Ooliku, smaller than a stairrow stirred in the waters. Small-five flashed a curious pulse of glowshine at it, and watched as an infant darted away, glowshine jittering with mindless fright. Her five sisters fled alongside her; with such a large company of siblings, the infants must only be a few days old. The quiet, endless charts in Far-away-light said that by one month from birth, most infant groups were pared down to an average of two to three. Small-five’s survival as a lone infant, even if temporary, had been a substantial statistical anomaly and she had been entered into the records very quickly once she’d made her odd upbringing known.
She wondered if it was more or less terrible, to lose one of your siblings or all at once. A small loss might sting all the harder, where more could numb. She pulsed irritably, shining away the morbidity. Useless thoughts, distracting, swirling around your head like silt clouds (years in the open ocean and in the clean environment of Far-away-light had led her to forget just how infuriating those were; the grittiness in your gills felt like it would last forever) and distracting you from what’s important, like
A large shape slipping into Small-five’s peripheral vision, freezing into immobility as her light touches it, then eeling over on itself and rocketing away.
that.
There was only a second’s-worth of hesitation on Small-five’s part before she pursued. Whatever it was, it was afraid of her enough to flee on sight, and that was assurance enough of harmlessness for her liking. And it was slower than her, although not by much. Even with a head start, a few moments of effort and a fierce forward shine had it in her sights once more: a strange, slender, ropy thing, all lean whippiness and fearful trills. It was noisy, very noisy; a strange squealing scream erupted from its mouth as it dodged and juked between the ridges of the reef.
Small-five put on more speed. It was suddenly very, very important to her that she catch this thing, and she couldn’t have put why into words. It just needed to be done, and there was nothing more to be said. In any case, saying things was becoming impossible just now. Words, sentences, the entire concept of language was sliding right out of her grasp as her glowshine focused itself into a searing searchlight aimed right at the fleeing tail in front of her, taunting her, just out of her reach why was it just out of her reach so close almost there almost there ALMOST THERE.
Small-five’s proboscis strained, stretched, stabbed… and swished through nothing but water as the creature doubled over on itself, corkscrewing backwards and underneath her. Before she could twist herself into a turn, it had already vanished among the reefcolony’s debris.
What is it? gleamed Five-bright-flashes. The Safety warden had appeared from nowhere and was floating silently less than half a body-length from Small-five.
The words didn’t make any sense. Small-five struggled to get her thoughts in order, and succeeded in communicating nothing much at all. Her lights bobbed and glimmered like a subadult’s.
You were lighting up full blast on the emergency flasher, said the warden, but you look all right. Shine clearer, won’t you…oh. Oh. A tiny flurry of amusement rippled over Five-bright’s body, displaced immediately by sympathy. It was a male, wasn’t it?
Don’t-know, said Small-five, taking refuge in the embarrassing but thankfully comprehensible simplicity of sistertalk. Don’t-know-just-wanted. But why-did-I want?
Your first time then, wasn’t it? You know the mechanics of it, you’d have studied mating habits of a dozen different species before you even left the city, and if you’ll give your brain a few minutes to wring the hormones out of itself you’ll remember what you know about your own reproductive system. Just relax.
Small-five twitched in the water.
That’s an order from a Safety warden.
Small-five relaxed. More out of firmness of glowshine than reason, but it was what it was, and it was also what she needed. The fog was already starting to lift from her mind, letting her know that she’d stretched a few important muscles and that swimming was going to hurt for the next few days. Her proboscis was sore, and her rear fins were tingling in a very odd way.
Oh.
Right.
Male.
Small-five’s lights dimmed down to nothing in an unconscious attempt to make herself invisible.
Don’t be that way, soothed Five-bright, gently bumping her snout. Not a glimmer of laughter marked her now. It was your first time. It’s always that way, nobody keeps their brain in their skull on their first chase. The hormones were piloting you, not your mind.
What if I find…him… again? asked Small-five, feeling miserable and worthless and quite sorry for herself. The pronoun felt strange to the shine as she said it. I’m supposed to be researching!
You’ll know what he is, and you’ll know what the feelings mean when they start to happen, said Five-bright. Now, if you want a promise that you won’t go charging after him again, well, I can’t give you that. You’re young, and this sort of thing happens. But you won’t be confused, and you’ll have half a chance to head it off before it goes anywhere. And you’d better get comfortable with the chance of seeing more males, because the year-before-last’s generation is just hitting maturity.
Small-five twitched again.
You’ll get used to it very quickly, said Five-bright. Now stop dimming yourself and smarten up. I’ve got a patrol to keep up, and the longer I’m sitting here, the longer I’m not out there making sure nothing big and ugly is going to get too close to you and anyone else on the reef. In any event, you’re not in anywhere near as much bad shape as you’d like to think you are. Don’t worry so much.
Sorry. You’re right. Small-five hesitated, then decided to deal with the awkwardness by charging through it. Thank you.
Don’t worry, repeated Five-bright, and then she was gone, off and into the blue blank of the distance with that same startling, silent speed.
Small-five hung there in the water for a while, figuring out which part of her body hurt the most. In the end she settled for her light tubes, which sent small, startlingly sharp twinges of pain through her entire body whenever she shone too brightly. Although initially annoying, she appreciated it two days later, when she nearly bumped snout-to-snout into another male while he was distracted by a meal of decaying Mtuilk. He turned tail and fled, and she barely made it two bodylengths after him before the intense pain from her overflaring glowshine brought her to a crawling stop.
After that, self-control was a good deal easier, and she kept a firm grip on her instinct to chase when she saw the males. Five-bright was right; all you had to do was get used to it. And being too sore to move above an idle slosh didn’t hurt your self-control either.
More practically, it was good for her exploration. Swimming so slowly, she noticed things that she would’ve scudded right past without a glance, and in the dimmed light of her glowshine, she looked more carefully and saw greater detail. Enforced or not, it was an interesting change.
It made monitoring the infants much easier. Fast movements were spotted easily and immediately by their wandering eyes, but slow, deliberate motion slipped through their haste, and they were quick to distract one another with their primitive and enthusiastic chatter of barely-sparkling glowshine, the ancestor of sistertalk that varied and wobbled and always ended up as a thousand barely-comprehensible dialects that could just scrape by as cousins. faint-marks had told them that there was quite a lot of study involved in discovering just why that was so, and why subadults didn’t end up either all speaking very nearly the exact same thing or millions of totally different languages. There was a lot of complicated discussion on brain structure involved.
Whatever their babble was, Small-five found watching them oddly heartbreaking. Her own memories of her infancy were very sharp – unusually so, according to the library – and she wished there was something she could do for them besides watch from a distance and discreetly ward away any of the larger Stairrow that blundered too close. But they were nonsapient, their brains still locked into their childhood cortexes, their minds and bodies yet untouched by the nutrients that bubbled up from under the poles. Until they too made the great migration over the open seas, hunted through the winter nights, and rode the melting bergways towards home, she would have as little in common with them as with a fiskupid.
She wondered if any of the infants she was watching would survive that long, would somehow manage to cheat and twist and escape from death in all its endless forms at every stage of the path towards sapient adulthood, avoiding starvation, predation, sickness, and the worst and yet the most simple of all, bad luck. And it was then she knew, she really knew, that even if they did, she likely would never have a way to know. For all she could tell, these infants could cease to exist the moment they left her sight.
What she did next took Small-five a bit by surprise.
She triggered her emergency flasher, but on warning rather than alarm. Five-bright appeared some minutes later with a corresponding lack of urgency.
Please watch them for a minute, asked Small-five. Just a minute. I’ll be back soon, I promise.
If you’re thinking of making pets, said Five-bright, eyeing the little ones, it’s been done. It doesn’t work well. Infants can’t handle captivity.
No, not that. Just please, watch them. I don’t want to lose them.
The research habitat was maybe five minute’s swim, but Small-five made it in three, aching muscles or no. faint-marks was the only one present as usual, with Safety out on patrol and the rest of the Populist expedition out on fieldwork.
I need a tag, said Small-five.
Mild surprise rippled on the chief of Populism; the tracking tags were some of the more expensive equipment the expedition possessed, and use of them was carefully noted. for what purpose?
It’s important.
faint-marks looked at her carefully, her always-unsteady glowshine eddying just a bit more than usual. we have surveyed the young of this reefcolony before. we know of their migration patterns.
There is room for one more study, isn’t there? For thoroughness’ sake? You can never be too thorough, and we’re meant to use all the tags anyways, and we’ll never catch enough Verrineeach schools to use them all before the trip’s done, even if we want to track all the major bloodlines like you said we had to.
faint-marks said nothing.
Please? asked Small-five.
all that is needed, said faint-marks, and she plucked a container from a net with her proboscis. Inside, tiny sparks of othershine glimmered.
You know that you are just tracking one of five, commented Five-bright, as she pinned the flaring, squirming infant to the reefcolony with her proboscis. What if she dies?
Then I have wasted a little bit of time and resources. If she doesn’t, she knows that she is cared for, said Small-five, pinning the tag to the notch behind the infant’s dorsal fin, where it would have minimal drag.
Sentimental. Not everyone’s childhood was as fearful as yours. And we care for them when they come to us, starving from the poles.
Maybe so, said Small-five, as they watched the little sister flee over the reefs, tail a blur of glimmering motion, but now she knows that someone loved her, even before she had a mind.